Who Knew
by SecretlyIrish
Summary: Lovino just wanted to know what Antonio was like as a teenager. Who knew it would end up like this?
1. Prologue

/This is version 2 of the Prologue, created on November 1st 2015/

The day was like any other, Antonio lounging on the grey couch, waiting for Lovino to come home while the television droned on, completely ignored. It was turned to some historical documentary or another, but Antonio was lost, staring out the window into the clear, blue cerulean sky. People came and went on the pavement, cars drove by, and Antonio waited.

When Lovino finally returned, he came with a question on his lips and an expectant look on his face, which was perfectly, completely average. The only real difference from the absolute norm was the question itself, "What were you like as a teenager?"

Everything crashed down inside of Antonio's mind, the cars stop moving, the sky turns a bloody red, and the people's faces morph into those that had always terrorized him in a singular moment. And when that moment passes, and the sky returns to cerulean, and the cars move again, all he could say is, "I don't want to talk about it."

The words themselves are blank and cold, lonely and empty, like a piece of white paper left on the kitchen counter. It was soothing, comforting to Antonio. He found solace in the lonely words. Lovino, on the other hand, was not pleased with this answer, if it could be called an answer at all. He repeated the question in the same stubbornness that he had always been known for, only to meet the same answer time and time again.

Antonio refused to talk, and Lovino stormed away. That beautiful, cerulean day had ended with slammed doors on opposite sides of the hall and broken sobs from the one room it would not be expected from.

The next day, Lovino was just as determined for answers. And if Antonio won't give it to him, then surely there was someone who would, not his friends, surely, but someone who lived to do exactly what Antonio wouldn't want, someone who grew up alongside him as a bitter rival. Arthur Kirkland.

With this in mind, he packed up his stuff and set out for the Eyebrow Bastard's house, determined to get those answers that he sought. It doesn't take long to arrive, and even less time for Arthur to open the door.

"What in the bloody hell do you want?" Arthur asked, a caterpillar raised.

"What was Antonio like as a teenager?" he asked, his voice tough and demanding, though he was quite nervous.

"Why don't I show you?" Arthur responded with a sly, chilling smirk. Lovino felt as though he should run, but then the world turned black as pitch and he felt the strangest sensation of falling.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Sorry for the re-upload of the same chapter. My RP pal had some serious input so I had to honour her opinion. From now on she will have input before I publish the chapter to keep this update problem from happening. By the way, oh my gods, thank you so much writersoftheuniverse and mirrorkirby64! Your favourite and follow inspired me to finish writing up this chapter. It makes me pleasure smile to know that you enjoyed the prologue enough to favourite and follow.

When the darkness at last dissipates Lovino sees Antonio, but he doesn't really look like Antonio should. Antonio is all smile and joy and laughter, but this boy is sitting on the porch, staring into the sunset with eyes glazed over with unshed tears. The only clue that this person is Antonio is the potted tomato plant that he has wrapped himself around.

"An...tonio?" Lovino whispers, shock resonating through his voice. The boy looks up at Lovino, with a confused sort of look.

"Who are you?" Antonio asks, voice hoarse as if it hadn't been used in a long, long while.

"What do you mean? It's me."

Antonio laughs at this, the sort of laugh that is hollow and false, with an echo of all-consuming sadness. He doesn't answer the question, just laughs in that broken way. Lovino moves closer, eyes filled with concern. 'This isn't like Antonio', he thinks, 'this isn't like him at all!'

"Antonio...?"

"Si, stranger?" Antonio finally responds, emerald-green eyes that should spark with passion, cold and unloving (or perhaps unloved). The words strike at Lovino, realization hitting him. He's shorter than the Antonio Lovino was familiar with, he was slouching too (something Antonio never did). His hair was longer than Antonio would normally keep it, and even messier. This Antonio's build is much slighter, less muscle and more gangliness. This is teenage Antonio. This is what he wanted to see. And Antonio didn't know Lovino as a teenager.

"I'm... I'm new. I just moved in" Lovino says quickly, his voice raising a few pitches. Antonio gives him a look somewhere between 'are you out of your mind' and amusement.

"Oh, alright then. Welcome to the neighbourhood," Antonio responds, his words lacking in enthusiasm. A new person in town, a new person to judge him, a new person to hide his secret from.

"Thanks I guess," Lovino says, then pauses for a moment, "So... How are you?" Lovino winces at the words, knowing how foolish it sounded. How weak. If only Antonio had started the conversation like he usually did- wait, no. Antonio wouldn't. He's in pain. He's always been there for Lovino, and now Lovino had to step up to the plate, and be there for Antonio.

"Fine," the response is hollow as Antonio's gaze drops to the ground. The glaze over his eyes thickens as the tears threaten to escape. He manages to keep them back, though. Somehow. Lovino's heart wrenches as his instincts scream to hug the boy as tight as he could, to comfort him, to be there for Antonio as Antonio had always done for him. 'Is this how he always felt as I cried' Lovino asks himself.

A voice from inside calls Antonio's name, a dark deep voice. Antonio pales in fear. "I have to go," he says, already scrambling up, careful not to bump the tomato plant. He dashes inside and out of view. Lovino stands there for a few moments longer, lost in thought.

'He's so different here, so much more afraid. He's so weak, what made him like this? Why isn't he full of light and love as he has always been? What happened to him. What changed him? And then what changed him again to make him full of light? What is it that is going to help him? Or who? What could possibly change him from the mess he is into the man I love?' These are the questions that spiral through Lovino's head at such a dizzying frequency that he doesn't hear the thuds echoing from inside the house.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Grab a cup of coffee or some such while you read, this one's going to be much longer than the other's. Seriously, it is longer than the rest of the story combined. Also, thank you to everyone who has favourited/followed/reviewed in the past little while, my rp friend and I both sincerely appreciate all of your kindness. Also, please note that while Lovino may seem to seem a little out of character, it is merely how we think that he would handle a situation in which he had to protect Antonio rather than the other way around. Also also, if the accent is wrong, blame the roleplay partner. I didn't want to add them, but she shouted at me 'IT'S CANON', so it is _not_ my fault.

High school is a special kind of Hell in its own, each aspect of high school being a different level of Hell. Assuming Hell has seven levels, the seven layers would be in ascending order from least painful to most painful the hallways in their overcrowded, jostling terror, then the teachers what with the absolute lack of anything interesting to say whatsoever, the scent in most of the rooms (which was something of a mix between sweat, hormones, and that scent in a room after they've just cleaned up some kid's vomit), the rest-rooms, which are far too gruesome to go into detail on, the vice principal, who was a mean old man with absolutely no sense of humour _whatsoever_ , the disgusting brownish green slop that they call 'food', the jackasses that are considered 'people', and, the most horrible, painful, agonizing part of school; the bullying.

Now Lovino is _**willingly putting himself back into that stage of life**_. Of course, he wouldn't under normal circumstances, but if Antonio is involved he will. That said, the Italian in question bravely walks through the Gates of Hell (front doors) and sits himself down in front of the disgusting ogre that is the Vice Principal. His name is, according to the sign by the door, Mr. Goldred. His hair is thinning and a greasy grey, his eyes are a piercing blue colour that could easily stare down the most intimidating and fearless troublemaker. His face is wrinkled in a way that simply screams angry.

"Can I help you?" Mr. Goldred asks, his voice cold and scratchy, like nails on a chalkboard but at a much lower pitch. The vice principal leans forward, his brow furrowing deeper. His breath is a combination of prunes, mint and coffee, which is, quite frankly, one of the most horrid scents Lovino had been forced to sit through.

"I'm here to register," Lovino says, his voice steady. He had to wonder, even as he sat in this office for the broken boy, 'would Antonio go this far for me?'

"Let's begin with you taking home these forms to your parents, pick your courses, have them sign you into said courses and then we'll talk," Mr. Goldred says, boredly. Lovino nods, and dashes out of the building to a the nearby park (to emulate his going). He forges his parents' signatures without having to think too hard about it. Something about having to do that for years because his parents were too busy with Feliciano seems to have helped him memorize them. He carefully picks the courses that Antonio was most likely to be in, and waits. It took him maybe ten, fifteen minutes to get everything filled out and 'signed', but with parents it would take twice that.

At least, that's what his friends (the few he had) said. He honestly wouldn't know. He'd been doing his own paperwork since the third grade, when Feliciano had been put into kindergarten (how Lovino hated the word 'kindergarten' in all of its German-ness). He didn't hate his brother anymore, but at the time he truly resented how the child had managed to steal away his parents' love. It honestly didn't help that when Feliciano grew up a little he showed an early talent for _everything._ He could draw magnificently at around six. His piano skills were astounding, and he far surpassed the elder Vargas brother by the time he was four. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. Lovino would try and try and try, but nothing ever came of it. He just wasn't _good enough_ for his parents. He sighs and shakes such things from his head. He needed to save his concerns for what truly important.

Antonio.

Fifteen minutes later he walks back to the brick building, and hands in his paperwork. The vice principal looks at it carefully, probably checking for forgeries. Luckily, Lovino has done this so long that the vice principal finds absolutely nothing suspect. Five minutes of excruciating silence follows and then...

"You're all set. Classes start in a half hour, I suggest you find your way around the school," Mr. Goldred says, his face scrunching up in disgust. Lovino nods and scrambles out of the room, not wanting to be around Mr. Goldred any longer.

Lovino begins to wander the grey, dim halls, numbly noting the locations of each of his classes, the lunch room, and the library. Up ahead he notices someone very, very familiar and yet it takes him a moment to realize who it is. Antonio. 'Why-a is he slouched over, like-a he's hiding', Lovino asks himself, worried. He walks over to Antonio, and gently rests a hand on his shoulder. "Are-a you alright?"

Antonio starts a bit, but then nods. "I'm fine," he says, gently, quietly, automatically. He has said this so often that he's not even sure who he's trying to convince, the other person or himself. He gives Lovino an inquisitive look, his head tilting slightly to the right, before continuing on to say, "What do you care, anyway?"

"I-a... I just do, alright? You seem like a good person, and I don't know any of these other jackasses an-anyway," Lovino says, his pathetic attempt to comfort Antonio leaving his face a slight shade of red. Antonio snorts softly in mild amusement, and pats his head.

"Whatever you say," he mumbles, his voice deep and gruff. 'Sounds-a like he didn't get any sleep either, but at least _he_ had a bed instead of some park bench, right' Lovino thinks to himself. Lovino puffs up his chest and crosses his arms.

"I-a do! I-a think you seem wonderful," he exclaims, cheeks nearly catching fire. Antonio gives him a slightly suspicious look, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. Hope has blossomed in the Spaniard's chest, hope that maybe he has found someone that would understand, but at the same time there is fear. If Lovino is the same, if something _does_ happen, then the chances of getting caught are high. They could both be in danger if something happens- no. Nothing's going to happen, or at least he _hopes_ nothing's going to happen. But if it does, he will not be the one to stop it.

"...tonio? Antonio? Earth to Antonio," Lovino says, waving a hand in front of 'Tonio's face. as Antonio comes out of his own mind.

"Oh, si, lo siento," Antonio starts, but clarifies when Lovino sends him a very confused look, "I mean, yes, I'm sorry. I spaced out, didn't I?" Lovino nods, slowly. Lovino's biggest concern is figuring out what is wrong with Antonio, he's clearly not himself. Yes, Antonio is a general space-case, but usually when he spaces out he's smiling. Teenage Antonio doesn't seem to smile much. What could possibly have happened to him?

Lovino is about to say something when the bell rings. Antonio quickly moves over to two idiotic looking males with a huge smile on his face, one that looks eerily like Antonio's usual grin. Lovino decides not to follow for now, unsure if Antonio would really like him hanging off his arm around his friends, who terrify Lovino anyway because 1) Francis and 2) Gilbert. Who wouldn't be scared out of their shit?

Lovino, as it turns out, was only about half right on which classes Antonio is taking, or maybe he _is_ right, but they've been assigned to different periods because Lovino only has Art and Mixed Choir with Antonio. Both classes passed uneventfully, aside from the very awkward introductions and possibly Lovino falling flat on his face in Mixed Choir. Not that the latter was very unexpected anyway.

"Hey, Lovino, can I talk to you?" Antonio asks after school, once his friends had left. Lovino nods, and follows Antonio out of the building, and onto the cracking grey cement steps in front of the building.

"What is it, Antonio?" Lovino asks, gently, as if he's afraid of destroying Antonio, which isn't that far from the truth. Antonio looks at him, studies him, his gaze cold and unyeilding. Lovino is unable to look away, unable to hide his face from the hard emerald gaze, perhaps unwilling to. He is flawed, his is just as broken, and he's afraid this Antonio will not be as caring as the Antonio he knows, but he just _cannot_ move from that gaze.

"Are you... are you gay?" Antonio asks, softly, his voice nothing more than the whisper of the wind, a hushed question that the asker was almost too afraid to ask. The question itself was dangerous in the mind of Antonio, too many subtle implications of who and what he was that could be picked up on if one were to read carefully enough. Too many things about him that could be gleaned from one singular question for his comfort, and yet he had to know. He just _had_ to.

"Sì, sì I am. Do you... have a problem with that?" Lovino responds, firm at first, but quickly moving into shy nervousness that is common when he feels he is being judged. Almost as common as the anger, but he cannot yell or scream at Antonio when he's this broken, can he? When Antonio is so close to being broken into a thousand little pieces? No, no he cannot.

"Be more careful in this place, people like us," Antonio starts, pausing when he's realized he has said too much, gathering his courage before continuing, "are looked down upon here. It's best to stay quiet about it, and try not to be obvious." There, he's given the best advice he can, the only advice he can.

"Alright, you be-a careful too," Lovino says, shifting awkwardly. Antonio looks at him again, this time searching about Lovino for something else. He notes dryly that Lovino looks exhausted, and there's a leaf in his hair. Where did he sleep anyway? If he slept at all.

"Aren't those the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Where did you sleep? That is, if you slept at all."

"Uh... m-my-a parents' house?" Lovino is clearly lying, and Antonio's eyes narrow.

"I don't believe you. Where are you staying?"

"...park," Lovino mumbles, and Antonio sighs.

"Stay with me then, at least for tonight. My parents are out, so it shouldn't be a problem," Antonio demands. Lovino can only nod. Antonio begins walking, and Lovino follows. From this point on, the story is inevitably moving forward, unable to turn back to what is known and safe. What shall happen to these two? You will soon find out, but that's not the biggest question. The biggest question is, will the consequences of the events soon to pass be worth the answer that Lovino seeks?


	4. Chapter 3

Antonio's house was neither fancy nor poor, it was a simple and humble wooden structure with a covered patio out front and a small, but not overly so, lawn. On the patio were two rocking chairs, a table in between them, and a small potted tomato plant by the door, the same one that Antonio had been holding earlier.

The plant itself was shrivelled up and dying, despite the gentle care that it had been receiving from Antonio, who had had the plant for as long as he could remember. Basically since he was born due to the seed having been planted the precise moment that he had taken his first breath of air on February 12th 1990. His Grandma had done the planting, and then given it to him as a gift when he was old enough for it. He loved the warmth that she had provided him. That was the time when the tomato plant thrived, when Antonio was young, blissfully unaware of the struggles of life, but that time is over and dead.

The two walk through the old wood door and into the messy living room. "I'm sorry, my parents are never home so I've let it become a bit of a mess, please make yourself comfortable," Antonio says as he moves into the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. He returns with the tea (which was a generic mint), and sets it on the coffee table.

"Lovino, uh, as I mentioned my parents are kind of away a lot. Almost always, actually so you're free to stay whenever you like. A-and if they ever do come home or something while you're here, there's a window in my room, right above my bed. It's good for escaping and all," Antonio stutters, trying his very hardest not to sound like an awkward nincompoop.

Antonio knew how dangerous this was. This whole thing. It could kill him, if they ever found out. He knows, and yet he can't help himself. He just had to. Perhaps it was because this was one of very few chances to connect with someone like him, perhaps it was the fact that Lovino was quite frankly intriguing, or perhaps something else. It is likely a combination of those things that makes it worth it. Or, he hopes it was worth it. He really, really did because if it isn't... he doesn't want to think about it.

Lovino nods, completely unaware of the danger that Antonio had put himself in. How could he ever guess without Antonio telling him? Antonio gives Lovino a tiny smile, and a small 'thank-you'. Lovino feels warm and soft, and the area where his heart should be feels so full it almost hurts. He recognizes the feeling instantly. It's the feeling he always gets after Antonio smiles. He missed it.

"So, would you like the first shower?" Antonio asks.

Lovino shakes his head, "No, you-a can have it." Antonio nods, and wanders off towards the shower. Lovino sits down with his back against the wall. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. He needs to think. Maybe he could figure out why Antonio's so shattered. So broken. Like an angel who's wings have been torn off. From what he could tell, it wasn't that he had a lack of friends. Gilbert and Francis have always been there for him, he'd been told that by Antonio himself. It's not that he's bullied either, he seems more popular than bullied. Nobody dislikes him at school. He's too sunny. It has to be something at home, but what? Is it that his parents are never home? That must be it.

Despite the nagging feeling that there's something more, the persistent notion that what he said earlier has something to do with it, the tugging feeling that it's rather odd that he would have to escape through the window, he tells himself that it's his parents being gone that hurts him the most. He can sort of understand how that feels, having felt no love from his own parents. 'That-a _must_ be it,' he tells himself. 'It-a must be'.

Just then, Antonio taps him on the shoulder and says, "You can take your shower now." Lovino nods, and scurries off to the wonderful world of scalding water and shampoo. When he finishes, Antonio hands him a spare pair of pyjamas from the doorway and scurries off to do whatever tomato bastards do as teenagers.

A minute later, Lovino is out and standing awkwardly close to Antonios face. "Uh, hi," Lovino mumbles, his face heating up from the proximity of their lips. He hadn't kissed Antonio since the morning he'd left for the Eyebrow Bastard's place... That's over fourty-eight hours! God, how he missed that sensation- no. Not right now. He can't have these thoughts right now.

The next few moments are excruciatingly awkward as Antonio backs away and tries to stumble out an apology while Lovino attempts to get his head together after their near kiss. "M-maybe we-a should just go to bed," Lovino says, once he realizes that he's not going to be able to pull himself together enough for anything else. 'Tonio nods, and leads him to the bedroom.

"You should take the bed, Lovi," the Spaniard says, smiling a bit. It was only polite, after all.

"W-what did you-a just call me?" Lovino asks, his heart pounding all the way to his eardrums. God, how he missed that stupid fucking nickname!

"L-lo siento, lo siento. I-I really didn't mean to give you a nickname like that. Still, you should take the bed," Antonio stutters, his face darkening slightly with a minuscule blush. He fidgets with his sleeves, honestly embarrassed that he had said his little nickname for Lovi aloud. Lovino snaps out of it.

"Oh hell no, you are already letting my ass stay, take-a the bed," Lovino firmly replies.

"No. You're the guest. You take it."

"NO. Take-a the Goddamn bed Antonio!"

"No!"

"CHIGIIIII! Fine," Lovino says, barely resisting the urge to tag on the custom 'bastard' or perhaps 'idiot'. Barely. So he clambers into the stupid bed and pulls the fucking covers over his head and yells a halfway aggravated 'goodnight' in Antonio's general direction. Antonio chuckles and curls up on the floor. No way was he sleeping in any place but his own bedroom, not with his parents. It wasn't safe.


	5. Chapter 4

Saturday, the first time a poor, weary soul (such as a teenager) can rest after a long battle (school). It is a day of celebration, and procrastination because homework sucks. So it is on this day that we find our two protagonists, fast asleep at an hour well past that which they would normally be able to sleep to.

They were holding each other gently, as if afraid of breaking the other, their faces a mere breath away from the other's. Lovino's hand twitches slightly, despite being encased by Antonio's unaware hand. The slight movement causes Antonio to shift, waking Lovino up more. Lovino is the one who's eyes crack open first.

"What the... when-a did he get in the bed?" he mumbles, before answering his own question with a simple, "whatever." The sound of Lovino's voice pulls Antonio the rest of the way conscious, causing the Spaniard to groan in annoyance at, well, everything. Despite the fact that he will one day become a very cheerful kind person (hopefully), he will never in a million years be a morning person. Approach before coffee meant death, and Lovino already knew that.

"Where's-a the coffee pot?" Lovino questions, his voice still gruff and heavy with morning. Antonio is currently unable to speak, and so simply drags Lovino into the kitchen and pulls out the coffee grounds, filters, mugs, creamer, and sugar. And whipped cream.

Lovino seriously debates giving Antonio a whipped cream moustache.

About a half hour later, once the two have consumed enough coffee to feel their brains, Lovino does give Antonio that moustache of Whipped Creamy Doom. Antonio quickly arms himself with the spray cheese, and gives Lovino a moustache as well. Now if only he could make some cheesy joke, all well.

Instead, they laugh at each other's moustaches, and put the cans of fluff away for fear of wasting all of it. Which is probably better for Antonio's sake anyway. "You-a look great with your big white moustache," Lovino says, between chuckles.

"Well, I think it would look cheddar on you," Antonio says, attempting to make a pun. It clearly works because Lovino has facepalmed.

"I-a don't know, I think it looked pretty damn gouda on you," Lovino retorts.

"Do I have your parmesian to disagree?"

"No, but you-a could cottage out!"

"You win, you win, Lovino!"

"This swiss what you get when you-a mess with me!"

Antonio has doubled over with laughter at this point, his forehead resting on Lovino's shoulder. Lovino simply smirks victoriously as the peels of laughter die into random chuckles. "Damn, you're funny," Antonio says, amusement quite obvious in his voice.

"Of-a course I am!" Lovino exclaims, puffing his chest out. Antonio's eyes soften at the adorable sight before him, and he chuckles again. 'Man, I haven't laughed like that since... well, since I was a kid,' Antonio thinks to himself.

A loud growl tears itself from the deep depths of Lovino's stomach, announcing to anyone within a mile radius that someone is hungry. Antonio's own tummy echoes the cry of it's comrade. A quick glance at the clock explains why they're so hungry. It's one o'clock in the afternoon, and they're teenage boys that haven't eaten all day.

"I'll-a make something, since you-a let me stay here and all," Lovino offers immediately, shoving Antonio out of the kitchen. Antonio puts his hands in the air and walks out, grinning to himself the whole time. 'So this is what it's like to have someone there for you,' Antonio thinks as he waits for Lovino to finish whatever it is that he is working on.

About twenty minutes later the two are enjoying a delicious tomato soup in Antonio's room, sitting so close to each other that their knees touch and their fingers often brush against each other's. Due to Antonio's slow pace when eating (something about enjoying the food rather than breathing it, or some bullshit like that), Lovino had long since finished his food and washed his dishes when they hear the door open halfway through the meal. (Yeah, that bastard was only halfway finished!)

Antonio sends Lovino a desperate look, and Lovino nods and sneaks out through the window behind them. Antonio finishes his food quickly, scarfing it down like a starved creature, and runs downstairs to clean his dishes. His parents ignore him for now.

Most of the day passes like that, Antonio scrambling around doing something, anything aside from being idle, and his parents ignoring him. All the way up to dinner. However, dinner is indeed a family thing, no matter how distant one is from their family, no matter how few times a family dinner can occur, if it is possible it will happen. His parents make sure of that.

"Did you read the news today, honey?" Antonio's father says, in his usual stern voice. His piercing green eyes (that Antonio had unfortunately inherited) are watching and calculating, always looking for any sign of flaws within his perfect system.

"No, I was too busy to do so. Why, did something happen?" Antonio's mother responds in her usual manner. So far nothing out of the ordinary, which might mean he was safe.

"The UK got a fucking tranny for a mayor today, disgusting if you ask me. Trannies, fags, the lot of them should burn in hell," Antonio's father says, matter of factly. The words pierce Antonio's heart, seeing as he is one of them. Of course, his father doesn't know that, but if he were to ever find out... Well, let's just say that 1) it would make what he already lives through seem like papercuts and 2) it might just kill him.

Later that night, Antonio is laying in his bed, twin rivers of silver sadness rolling from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, and into a small pool on the wooden floor. Tonight the physical harm is minimal, just a few bruises along his arms and a rather large, but not too terrible compared, one spreading across his back. The mental harm though, he couldn't take it.

What made tonight so bad? Was it the contrast between that morning and then? It must have been, his father hadn't said anything unusual. Maybe it was something to do with having let himself feel that made the difference. Now all he wants is to feel that again, the feeling of acceptance. He wants to laugh, he desperately wants to do the moustache scene over and over again until time itself has ended an eternity ago.

Too bad life doesn't work like that.

A/N: Do you hate Antonio's father yet? You'll hate him more later. Sorry about this chapter's weirdness, my friend and I are both suffering the curse of Mother Nature. I just tend to deal with it via humour, while she is curled up in fetal position, possibly dead...


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm so sorry for the unexpected haitus. My beta/rp friend was out of town, and without notice. And then we've had a big fight. So, this is not written with her input. So no accents. But hey, longer than usual chapter and fluff to make up for it is good, yes?

The morning comes with the same dreaded empty feeling that it always did when his parents had been home the night before. The alarm screaming in his ears like something out of a horror film, the blankets heavy and warm and the outside so cold. He moves like his limbs are made of lead, his arms stinging fiercely. "Ow," he mumbles, dully. He's used to it, yes, but that doesn't mean the fresh lines on his arms don't hurt at all.

At last he reaches the stupid alarm clock and silences it with a single hit from his hand. More rustling from the blankets as he finally reveals himself to the cold, cruel air. He rubs his eyes and yawns as he sits up. He vaguely wonders if his parents will be downstairs when he goes, or if they're gone again. He hopes the second, desperately.

After another ten minutes of just sitting there, empty gazed, he finally moves from his bed and towards the one thing that motivates him to do anything any more. Coffee. The glorious black liquid has already been made and is half empty, meaning his parents were here, but are now gone. The note on the table only confirms that.

'Antonio,

We had another business trip. We'll be gone one week. Don't burn the house down.'

No 'I love you' at the bottom, no 'stay safe', those three sentences. He sighs, and lets a single tear slip down his cheek. 'No use crying', he reminds himself, gently, 'they haven't left anything kind since you were young.'

He pulls himself together, and pours himself a cup of the glorious black liquid. He adds a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar to it, in order to ward away the bitterness. 'The cream and sugar is Lovino, and the coffee is my life. Without him it's so black, bitter, so dark and lonely. With him here, the entire world lightens up, and suddenly life seems sweet,' Antonio thinks, before idly noting that he should lay off the stupid philosophical thoughts, especially at six o'clock in the morning.

He decides to have a tomato for breakfast, seeing as the little red ball of perfect was just what he needs to lighten up his morning. That little thing was perfect in all of it's juicy, flavourful glory. A glance at the clock informs him it's now six thirty, and he needs to get his ass in gear.

By six forty, he's walking in the direction of the school in a daze. He probably would've walked the whole way in such a state, if Lovino wasn't approaching rapidly. "'Tonio! Hey, Antonio wait for me!"

"Oh, Lovino, hey," Antonio says, coming out of his thoughts. He offers up a small smile at the Italian, his hand raising in a miniature wave. The Italian nearly sighs in relief at the smile, but manages to maintain a steady expression.

"How're you today, 'Tonio?" Lovino asks, gently. Antonio merely shrugs, still halfway lost in his thoughts. Lovino's brow furrows in concern, knowing somehow that something was off. Perhaps it was the many times he himself had done the same thing? Ah, what does it matter. He needs to reassure Antonio, and so he gently reaches out his hand to grasp Antonio's in a manner he hopes is comforting.

Antonio blinks and looks at him. "Lovino?" he asks, barely daring to breath. 'Is he holding my hand? Of course he is! But what does it mean? Does he like me? Wait, why would I care if he did? I don't have a crush on him, do I? Of course not, I've never really had a real crush before. Sure I've thought some guys were awful cute, but never a crush. Well, okay there was that one crush I had on Gilbert for a while, but I hardly think that counts. I can't really have a crush now, can I? Especially not on someone like Lovino. He's more to me than a mere crush, isn't he? And I don't think this is love that I'm feeling, or is it? This weird feeling of safety whenever he's near, that distinct feeling of releif seeing his face... that's just because he knows that I'm, well, different and accepts it, right?'

"I thought you looked kinda down, so I wanted to comfort you," Lovino grumbles, his face heating up cutely. Just like a tomato.

"You could tell?" Antonio asks, almost hitting himself for his stupidity. 'Yeah, just admit pretty much aloud that you have mental issues, way to go Antonio you dumbass!'

The look on Lovino's face nearly breaks Antonio's heart, as his eyes are so full of not pity, not fear or anger, but of understanding, of concern and kindness, and perhaps a hint of affection. He can see, reflected in those beautiful brown orbs, among the green flecks, there he swears he can see someone just as broken and lonely, someone who truly understands.

"Lovino, I need you to let go of my hand, we're almost there. I can't risk you getting bullied," Antonio whispers, the moment shattering like an elegant wine glass on the floor. Lovino nods, and lets him go. The last five minutes are painfully awkward, both men with burning questions on the tips of their tongues and yet neither ask them.

After the cold hell that is considered 'school' is over, the two are walking home, just enjoying each other's company when Antonio realizes it. 'I love him.' That single, dangerous thought causes him to freeze entirely in his tracks. His face grows pale, and Lovino worries he's going to faint, until, just as suddenly as the panic came, it fades and Antonio walks on as if nothing had happened.

"And that," Antonio says, finishing his previous story, "Is why Francis is never allowed to have mayonnaise." Lovino looks about ready to facepalm or laugh. Maybe even both. But he doesn't, he just shakes his head as they reach Antonio's house.

"Do you want a snack?" Antonio asks Lovino, tossing his own bag at the couch. Lovino nods, so he wanders into the kitchen to grab a couple tomatoes and returns, grinning easily. Just like the Antonio that Lovino was familiar with, just like the Antonio that he loves. He catches the tomato tossed at him with perfect ease, and settles down at the coffee table with his maths homework out.

"Just so we're clear, I hate mathematics," Lovino groans. Antonio chuckles and sits next to him, pulling out his equally hated English homework.

"You help me, and I help you? You're way better at English than I am," Antonio offers gently. Lovino easily accepts, and they get to work. By the time they're finished, their faces are right next to each other's, cheeks almost touching. Their legs are resting easily on top of the other's, and their hands are brushing.

Antonio's heart is pounding in his head, chasing out any and all logical thought. He gently lifts up Lovino's chin so that they can gaze into each other's eyes. And then, ever so slightly he leans forward and-

"Dammit Antonio, you fell asleep on your English essay again!" Lovino is shouting in his ear, waking him back up. He groans, and rubs his eyes tiredly. At least he got the essay done just before he fell asleep this time, right? Or was that just a dream. He lifts up his head and gazes at the paper. Yeah, it's finished alright. So when exactly did he pass out? All well, he'd sort that out later, but first...

"I'll make some dinner, okay?" Antonio offers, and Lovino nods. 'Damn, looks like all those nights of bad sleep are catching up with me,' Antonio thinks to himself.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N My rp 'friend'/beta is no longer my friend. Enough was enough. I told her to fuck off. Plus a few more (not swearing or necessarily mean) words. So, if you would like to start beta-ing this, then email me at and we'll discuss. This also means no more accents! Yay! You don't see such bullshit in novels, so why put it in the fiction? Dìos, I'm so glad I don't have to do those anymore. They take away from the story, if you ask me.

A few weeks pass with days like that, and it was starting to show on Antonio. His smiles were more genuine, and his laughter didn't feel so hollow. Even the tomato plant was starting to grow vibrant again, despite being almost dead for years. It was heaven, pure heaven.

Now the two are sitting in Antonio's room, hands holding tightly onto the other's. Antonio's face was far too pale, and his breaths were coming and going rapidly. His eyes, his beautiful green eyes, were glazed over in pure terror, unseeing. Lovino recognized the symptoms easily. His dearest one was having one hell of a panic attack.

"I didn't do anything wrong, papa," Antonio is mumbling, "Please don't. Not again. I don't want to hurt again, please stop I didn't do anything wrong!" His voice raised to a shout, surprising Lovino. 'Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? But how, what could've happened to cause such a thing. Didn't he say 'papa'? What did his father do?!' Lovino is thinking, his thoughts swirly quickly as he gently, ever so gently, rubs his thumb over Antonio's hand to try and comfort him without making the symptoms worse.

It broke his heart in a million different ways, to watch the one person who'd always been there suffer in broken pieces of the man he once was. Shattered. Broken. But not yet gone, oh, he best not be gone! Lovino is trying not to have a panic attack himself at such thoughts, what would he do without Antonio? Who would be there for him when he really needed someone to tell him he wasn't all bad, or hold him tight when the nightmares came? Feliciano was always too busy with his stupid Ludwig to ever help in times like that. When had he become so utterly dependent on Antonio?

He had to fix Antonio, he couldn't let him suffer like this anymore. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't he just take on all of Antonio's pain and grief? Why wasn't he able to do anything but sit here? He'd read so much on psychology and yet none of it helped right now.

"Lovino? Lovino, honey, you're pale and hyperventilating, breathe," Antonio says quietly, shocking Lovino out of his terrifying thoughts. He had never, before this moment, breathed such a sigh of pure relief. Without registering what he is doing, he flings his arms around Antonio and hugs him as tight as he could, which was fairly tightly due to the countless hours he spent tending the tomato garden, pulling weeds and carrying vast amounts of the actual food.

"A-Antonio, thank God you're okay," Lovino finds himself shouting, shaking violently. Antonio blinks once, twice, thrice and wraps his arms around Lovino and nods. Lovino cries into his shoulder.

"Of course I am. I-It's just a little panic attack, I get over them without too much harm," Antonio soothes, his voice as warm and sweet as honey, "Don't throw yourself into a panic attack over such a little thing, it won't help any."

"I know, 'Tonio, I just... I got so scared, worried that you were really gone this time and-" Lovino says, having to stop abruptly due to the emotions clogging his throat. He really was far more terrified than he could express or explain. Antonio gently rubs his back, humming a song in Spanish. Probably something stupid, but loveable. Just like Antonio. It is in that soothing grasp that Lovino begins to fall asleep.

It is only during these times, just between wakefulness and sleep, that Lovino was able to truly dream. He dreams of sunkissed smiles and laughing green eyes, of the spicy, but yet sweet and earthy, scent of his lover, he dreams of the house with it's large tomato fields, he dreams of Antonio happy. And in that time, he speaks aloud, "One day, you're gonna have a damn big house with a fuck tonne of tomato plants, and you'll be really happy too. No matter what it takes me, 'Tonio."


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm sorry for the wait! Also, there was a slight misunderstanding as to what I meant by accents. I didn't mean over the foreign words, the accents in Spanish and Italian are totally part of the language! What I meant was when the characters are speaking English, my ex beta insisted on putting '-a' on certain words to mimic the Italian accent, which is what I wasn't pleased with. I despise when people do that, because it's a distraction. I agree that words like 'sì' shouldn't turn to 'si', they wouldn't mean the same thing. I humbly apologize for the misconception. Also, on the note of the foreign languages, in the even that a mistake in the usage of them occurs (IE I use the wrong form of the word, or misspell something) please inform me immediately so I do not make the mistake again in the future and can correct it. I love you all.

Chapter Seven:

Time is a fickle thing, it flows so quickly when you're having fun. So easily, and so much will pass without your notice. However, time slows to a near halt in times like this. Antonio was sitting at the dinner table with his parents again. His father was lecturing him on how he should pay more attention in his English class and get better grades, even though he had improved greatly over the past month (due to Lovino's help).

"Sì, Papa," Antonio mumbles at regular intervals during his father's long winded rant that slowly moves from the topic of his grades to about why _real_ football was better than American football, along with various other complaints about the quirks of America. But mostly the football issue. If he wasn't terrified of him, he might actually be laughing along with him, might be joining in on the conversation instead of just agreeing with each little word.

Finally, finally, dinner is over and he's allowed to go back to staying out of the way. He quickly moves into his bedroom, where he can think in peace. Or at least, where he should be able to think in peace. Unfortunately for said peace, there's a rapping at his window. He does the only logical thing that he could possibly do at such a time; throws open the window to give whoever the fuck it is a 'seriously man, seriously?' look.

Of course, the look melts as soon as he sees who it is. Lovino. Antonio quickly slides out of the window and hugs the young man in the well. "I missed you," he whispers, more than happy to be near his friend. The only one that understood. Well, okay, Francis sort of got it, since he was bisexual, but not quite.

"I missed you too," Lovino says, hugging back a little. The two stand there like that, looking up at the stars from their window well hiding spot. It's almost romantic, almost something worth a silly romantic movie. It would be, if it weren't for the imminent dangers around them, if it weren't for the fact that if Antonio's father were to poke his head in right now, they would both be over with. Or perhaps that made it more romantic? Ah, things to figure out later, perhaps if they manage to get together it will be worth reflecting on.

"I'm sorry Lovino, but my family is home and I must go," Antonio says, shattering the eternally long moment. Lovino nods and, just like that, he is gone into the night, lost forever from sight.

Antonio sighs, and picks up his sketchbook and a pen. He allows his thoughts to flow as his hand gracefully dances across the sheet laying open. A line here, some shading there. When, ten minutes later, he's finished the image he sees is shocking enough for him to throw the sketchbook across the room and immediately dive under his covers. 'I need sleep, and maybe some psychiatric help'.

A/N: I'm sorry it was short. The next one shall make up for it. :)


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: A thanks to the Goliath Beetle for writing works that magically inspire me to get off my ass and write. I do apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but you will have to bear with me... the School Year has begun.

The man was once an innocent child, much like his son. He once had the vivid midnight blue of grand dreams and the glistening gold of untold adventures to colour his world. But the man, who at this time was but a boy, was sent away to a place made of the unknown void, crafted from the inky black if broken, moonless nights and splattered in the deep, crimson, flowing blood. The blood of an innocent soul mutilated by the endless torment of those who 'fixed' him.

He grew up, burying his condemned heart beneath the dark umber of hallowed earth, to be consumed for evermore by the weeping abyss of sorrowed souls crying out in tune with the still beating heart that he had cast out. He did what his father had told him, despite the desperate cries from the bowels of the earth, where his heart lay, that echoed the stories of his innocent childhood days. Those sweet tales had since been set ablaze by the eternal flames of red, unjust hatred. He married a woman and had a son who he called 'Antonio'. And now the man, too, was being consumed by the fires that had destroyed the stories.

*

'Hi. We will be gone a month. Don't burn the house down.' Those simple sentences are scrawled on a peice of paper the colour of pureness, but also loneliness. A solitary hue that is familiar and comforting to Antonio. It fills him with a flash of hope, or perhaps joy. 'Today Lovino and I can sit and laugh and talk. Today I can come home with my best friend by my side, today I can spend it with the one I have loved since almost the beginning of the six month time period we have spent together!'

And so, as Antonio had thought, when the day is done he and Lovino do indeed find themselves together, sitting next to each other by the coffee table in the front room. Antonio finds himself staring deeply into Lovino's eyes. The captivating irises are not just the emerald green of rolling hills in the midst of a Midsummer's storm, nor are they but the brown of melting chocolate hidden away in the delicate autumn leaves and warm, roasted chestnuts. They are also honey gold, filled with sparkling hope and wonder, yet they were the redder gold of fiery passion; the embers of an ever burning soul. The beautiful, perfect, gorgeous eyes are inching nearer every moment.

There is a feathery warmth tickling at his lips, like a breathe exhales. Exactly like a breathe exhaled. Then warmth floods his mouth, nor the airy warmth from before, but solid, burning, firm warmth. A little but rough, chapped lips. There are no fireworks in this kiss, just a small little flame in the depths of his once forgotten heart. The feeling of being loved.


	10. Chapter 9

A/n: Tw for strongly hinted abuse, death, and some really awful slurs.  
Long before Antonio was born, there was another place stained a bitter steel grey that was, and forever will be, a lonely childhood, which was broken only by the shimmering crimson of spilt blood. Such a childhood, quite obviously, belonged to Antonio's father.  
"Alejandro Fernandéz! Get your pathetic ass in here!" a man roared. Alejandro, who was age sixteen at the time, ran in, his reddish brown eyes wide with fear. Oh no, had his father found out about his Italian sweetheart? Alejandro almost blushed at the thought of his boyfriend, who was a sort of pink that was both soft and gentle, but excitable and free. Alejandro would be lying if he were to claim he didn't love the beautiful blond boy. Of course, he had to lie to his father every day.  
"I heard you were hanging out with that Flavio again," Alejandro's father said, his voice low and dangerous, "You know what I said about hanging around that faggot!" Alejandro shook, he knew what came next. Crimson.

*

The door slammed open, quite suddenly, and the sweet honey gold kiss was broken. The atmosphere in the room turned quickly from blushing vermilion to an angry, terrified scarlet as the words, "What is going on here?" drip venomously from Alejandro's lips.

Antonio turned to Lovino, mouthing the words 'get out'. Lovino nods and takes off towards the Albino Potato Bastard's house, hoping he would get there in time to get Antonio help. Before it was too late.

Alejandro's very soul, in those dreadful moments, was at last consumed by the burning fire if hatred and fear. There were agonized ruby red screams, cast into the azure day, shouts of anguish cutting through the sky. Alejandro had been taken over by a horrible monster, and that monster would have taken Antonio's life, had Antonio's mother not moved in the way. The sacrifice brought Alejandro back to himself, but it was too late. The police arrived just in time to see the damage.

Maria, mother of Antonio, was dead, shot by her own husband. Before anyone could truly process this, a second shot rang out and Antonio was an orphan.


	11. Chapter 10

/I am sooooo sorry for the wait! DX I had some seriously major writer's block! But I got this stuff up!

Alejandro stood on a rooftop, staring out at the glimmering full moon and spattering of stars, waiting for his blond haired angel. Below him, a small town of maybe ten houses, a church, a couple stores, and a church stood almost completely empty, nobody was out and about during the Witching Hour, nobody but him and Flavio.

Amidst the rustling of the trees and the gentle seaside waves, he made out small, timid footsteps before a pair of warm arms wrapped around him. His harsh gaze softened, and he turned around to embrace the boy behind him. "Flavio, amor," he mumbled into soft, sweet smelling hair.

"Alejandro, I missed you," said Flavio, who nuzzled into Alejandro's chest. Alejandro, rather than speaking in his horrible, simple English, pressed his lips to Flavio's to express that he too was missing his dearest one. Flavio kissed back, and the cold night turned warm, and everything was perfect in a world of falseness, hatred, and lies. But every moment like this was a risk to their lives, because if anyone were to see them, it would all be over. Neither of them were allowed to love like this. It was "Sin".

But how could something so pure and warm be a sin? How could something so filling, so breathtaking be wrong? There was only love between them, and yet they were met with adversity and hatred. It wasn't fair, but when was anything ever fair in life?

When they pulled away from each other, the coldness of reality rushed back in and tore away their warmth. Despite that, they smiled. That moment was all they needed to feel right again. Alejandro brushed a little hair out of Flavio's face and murmured, "Let's sit, it's been a while." Flavio nodded, and they sat.

"There's Capricorn," Flavio said, pointing to a cluster of stars, "The sea goat. My mother was a Capricorn, and she was as stubborn as a goat, just like all the rest of them. Isn't it interesting how well the zodiac signs go with people's personalities?" Alejandro nodded, and smiled softly. He loved the way Flavio's eyes lit up behind his pink sunglasses when he talked about the stars, or his dead mum. He loved to see the small smile that rested on his pink face in moments like these.

"Yes, it is," he said, finally, as he stared at his beautiful boyfriend. Flavio gave him a very soft look, and pressed a second kiss to his lips, and everything was good, and everything was perfect. If only moments like this could last.


	12. Chapter 11

a/n: Guys, I'm not dead! Also, if you notice any problems with the Spanish that is in this chapter, please, for the love of whatever may be, tell me! That said, if it's not too much to ask, can you please check out this art piece? I need feedback, honestly. /d9ndrso

The next time he saw Flavio was at the hospital, and Flavio was visiting him. Alejandro's parents had left him alone to go and do whatever it is that they do (even Alejandro didn't really know), so he could talk to his boyfriend in peace. Conversation was painful, though, something about three broken ribs making it just a little hard to talk.

"He really did a number on you this time, didn't he," Flavio said more than asked, gently stroking Alejandro's cheek, "I wish I could have been there to stop him, to protect him, to do _something_ about all this. Are you going to call the police yet? Please tell me you will. I don't want you hurting any more!" Alejandro sighed, and gently lifted up a hand to shush him.

"I'll be okay," he managed, now stroking Flavio's hair fondly. Flavio managed to give him a tiny smile, and snuck a kiss. The kiss was like music, both instruments playing different parts in perfect harmony, practised, familiar soothing. A perfect composition of two. They didn't break apart for many minutes, though it felt like moments.

Then they turned to the sky and resumed watching the stars through the skylight, waiting for a shooting star, a miracle. "If you could have any wish, what would it be?" Flavio asked, breaking the silence with his gentle voice.

Alejandro thought for a little while, before smiling, "I... would want to be by your side. Forever. Tú eres mi querido, mi corazón, mi todo." Flavio couldn't help but blush at the romantic words, especially when they came out of the mouth of someone who was so often withdrawn and silent about his thoughts.

The sweet moment was shattered like a childhood dream when Alejandro's father called out for him, screaming words that were more horrible and sickening than school lunches. With one last parting kiss, Alejandro left, but not forever. In his plans, it was only until he was eighteen, then he and Flavio would never be separated, he and his love would be together forever, and everything would be perfect.

If only plans worked every time.


	13. Chapter 12

Months passed in a similar peaceful manner, the calm before the coming storm. The days were always a bitter grey, the nights a softly glowing sea of calm forest green and burning, loving vermilion red. It wasn't perfect- nothing was- but it was more than they could ask for.

The saying goes 'all good things must come to an end', and so it was such with their beautiful, blossoming romance. To put it simply, Alejandro's father found out and something about seeing his son kissing another boy beneath the flowering apple tree was enough to send him into one _hell_ of a rage.

" **Alejandro, get your pathetic** ** _puta*_** **ass over here right** ** _now_** **!** " his father called, nothing but hatred and disgust in his voice that masked a deep, deep fear. Alenjandro could only whisper _run_ to his love, walking bravely into his fate.

He was not so lucky as his son would be. He was in the hospital again for several months, nearly every bone in his body was broken, and, worse yet, he had to go back home to more of the same. It didn't end until he got a girlfriend, Maria. He knew, deep, deep down that he was still gay, he was still in love with his beautiful angel Flavio, but his family accepted him, he was loved at last.

And it wasn't as if Flavio hadn't gotten a new lover either, he'd ended up with a quiet Japanese girl from across the street. Of course, neither of them really loved each other, and they understood that, but it was necessary to keep them both safe. They had a son, Lovino, and raised him until he was six years old.

Sakura, Flavio's wife, was the first to fall ill, dying at the young age of twenty eight. Flavio was not long behind, though not from sickness.

No.

He died pushing Alejandro out of the way of a speeding car, his spine crunching beneath the heavy wheels of the vehicle. Screams and sobs rang out in the empty small town air, all from the man who seemed to have no heart. And in Flavio's last remaining moments, he was kissed.

*I left this one feminine to keep the insult as horrible as possible


	14. Chapter 13: FINAL

It was pitch black in Antonio's heart, hopeless, broken. It was like drowning in water of that colour, all senses taken away by the drowning sensation. He had loved his family, even if they had treated him horribly, he always would. They were his parents, his only known family. No amount of comfort from the authorities could soothe his broken soul, no amount of mental help was enough, nothing could get through to him save for the gentle hand holding his that very moment; Lovino's.

It wasn't enough to make all the pain go away like it was in those cheesy romance novels they both liked to pretend they didn't read, but it was enough to hold him together at the seams. Neither of them spoke a word as they rode to the courtroom where Antonio's fate would be decided. Little did they know that the principal himself was waiting there to offer to care for the young boy.

Fortunately for Antonio, he did indeed end up with Romulus, who was more than happy to let him keep his boyfriend. And for two years they lived happily, kissing beneath flowering blossoms in the Springtime, splashing in the pond out back during the Summer, laying in the colourful leaves in Fall, and having only the most epic of snowfights during the Winter. It was peaceful, it was perfect, but with everything that was such, it would come crashing to an end one Summer's day.

Lovino had stayed in this timeframe too long, he had to return to his time, go back to the Antonio he was meant to be with, return to the world where he belonged. And there was only one way to do that. Lovino left no note, just walked into the forest one day.

Of course, it was Antonio who heard the shot ring out into the azure sky, and it was Antonio who, sobbing, found where the shot gun lay next to a beautiful red rose. There was no trace of Lovino aside from the shotgun, but Antonio knew.

It would be many, many years before he found his sunshine again.

EDIT! A PRE-SEQUEL HAS BEEN RELEASED! s/12065529/1/


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